Try, Try Again
by FerryBerry
Summary: ON HIATUS. It turns out being Rachel Berry's friend is a lot harder than it looks. But, if at first you don't succeed...
1. Pity

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** Sigh. My muse really needs to get a hobby that doesn't involve catching rabid plot bunnies. But I guess this one is my replacement for 'Playing Games' or something….

**Pity**

It wasn't that Quinn felt _guilty_, exactly. Because there was no way on earth for her to experience that emotion, particularly when she hadn't done anything wrong. And there was no way in hell she'd ever feel guilty for torturing Rachel Berry. Berry was a freak, after all.

So…it was more like…pity. Yes, pity was a good emotion. You could feel that all the time, like when those commercials asking you to send money to third world countries so a kid could eat a can of soup came on. That was pity-worthy. And you could _definitely_ pity a loser like Berry.

That was what Quinn decided it must've been. That feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her innards twist when she saw the look on Berry's face after admitting to drawing those pictures on the bathroom wall? Definitely pity, because Berry was pathetic, and that's why Quinn was going to talk to her in the hallway.

Not out of guilt or anything, or the actual desire to talk to her. This was _just_ _**pity**_. Nothing more, nothing less. She'd be doing her a favor by deigning to be seen talking to her, and that would make up for the bathroom thing. Not that she felt like she needed to repent for that, because there was nothing wrong with what she'd done. Even if she'd felt so dirty afterward she'd taken three showers.

There was another thing, though…and that was that Quinn was also feeling…no, she couldn't be nervous. Being nervous about talking to Berry indicated that she felt something other than pity or loathing for her. And she didn't. She didn't care what Berry thought, so there was no reason to be nervous. Except that it might lower her social standing, so that was nervous-worthy. That and she had absolutely no idea what to say.

It wasn't like Quinn approached Berry on a daily basis. In fact, the only real talk they'd ever had was last week, when Berry came to _her_. And since then, they didn't talk to each other pretty much period. Even if it was only because Quinn wasn't calling her 'Man Hands' as much lately, but that was only out of loyalty to the other glee members. She'd promised herself she wouldn't be as mean to them as a whole, and that was why.

So now that she was actually going to pity-talk to her, she didn't know what to say. 'Hi' was a good way to start a conversation, right? Or a small (pity) talk session, since she didn't plan on sticking around long enough for it to become a conversation. _'Hi'…should I call her Rachel? No, too personal. If I say 'Man Hands', she'll just do her diva storm off. So 'Berry' will probably work._

Quinn wrung her hands and started the trek from her locker over to the argyle-clad girl's. It usually didn't seem this far. _Okay, so…'Hi, Berry.' What after that? Should I ask how she is? No, that indicates too much interest. She might _answer_, and that could go on for days. Maybe I should just leave it at that. 'Hi, Berry.' And walk away._

She was at her locker now, but Berry hadn't looked up from her planner, which she was writing rapidly in. _But she's probably going to expect something after that. Maybe she'll just keep talking after she says 'Hello' back. Then I won't have to say anything at all, my duty will be fulfilled, and I can pretend this never happened. Right?_

Her stomach was twisting again. Must be the pity. Poor, fashion-challenged Berry. _Maybe I should try to compliment her outfit…somehow. Let's see, same shoes as always, so that's out. Knee-high socks…God, she looks like Nancy Drew. This is impossible. _Nothing_ she is wearing looks good. Well, the black skirt isn't bad, but complimenting that will make her think I've been checking her out or something. Which, ew. Besides, _no one_ is going to check her out when she looks like that. Except maybe JewFro._

Quinn clutched her stomach when it lurched and she almost thought to run to the bathroom in case it was morning sickness—because it _would_ be a bitch and strike at this exact moment. But her stomach calmed, and Berry tossed her planner in her locker, and Quinn took a breath to speak, and Berry shut her locker as she _walked away_ without even _noticing_ that the blonde was standing there. Quinn gaped after the girl.

_What the _hell_ just happened?_


	2. Mercy

**A/N:** Gah. I already hate this chapter. Please be kind. :P

**Mercy**

Quinn had come to a new conclusion. After deciding that her first notion was utterly ridiculous (since when did _Rachel Berry_ blow off _Quinn Fabray_, anyway?), she'd thought about it and realized that Berry hadn't looked up from her planner once during the entire time the blonde had been standing there. And Quinn _had_ been positioned behind her locker door. So, clearly, Berry had just been preoccupied with her thoughts and hadn't seen her. She was just fortunate Quinn was merciful enough to give it a second shot.

She could do it before Cheerios practice. It wouldn't take long. Just swing by, say 'Hi, Berry,' and walk away. That only took like a minute, at most. Even if Berry replied, it wouldn't be over three. Coach Sylvester wouldn't even notice. Well…she might now that there were only three Cheerios left on the squad thanks to the inane war she was waging on Mr. Schuester. Still, she could just say Mr. Schue kept her after class for a bit. She'd believe that in a heartbeat.

Quinn shook her head—hard. She needed to stop obsessing before she ran out of time on this quiz. Really, saying 'hi' to a loser like Berry should not take this much time and effort. Now, was it 'No va' or 'No vale'?

Before she could decide, a slip of paper was plopped on top of her magazine. She glanced up at a grinning Finn, scowl already in place. What did he want now?

"What is this?" she murmured, coaching herself to remain neutral.

He hadn't done anything, after all. Yet. Although, he _was_ looking particularly giddy at the moment—almost like a dog begging for a treat—which was never a good sign. In fact, it usually meant, 'I've just done something really stupid.'

"Check it out." He glanced toward Mr. Schue. "I came up with a name I think would be good for the kid."

"Eyes on your own test, Finn," Mr. Schuester interrupted.

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned back to her paper when he was distracted by another student. But apparently Finn the dogged dimwit wasn't done yet.

"Anyway," he continued, "I read that Gwyneth Paltrow named her kid 'Apple' and I think that's so cool, cause you know how much I love apples, right?"

She sighed impatiently and set her pencil down, since he obviously wouldn't be letting her get back to her test until he was done yammering.

"And so I figured we should name our kid something more…original and poetic." He was pink with barely-contained glee by now. "Then I came up with the best baby name of all time."

Quinn huffed, but gave in and unfolded the paper apprehensively. She didn't know whether to burst into laughter or tears when she saw what he had written.

"Drizzle!" Finn whispered excitedly, eyes bright and wide. Kind of like a dog.

She leveled a cold stare at him. How on earth had she gotten herself mixed up with such an_ idiot_? He was almost worse than Puck. Scratch that, he _was_ worse than Puck. Did he _want_ their child to be beat up in the schoolyard? Honestly, there was a _reason_ everyone made fun of celebrities for naming their kids ridiculous things. Ridiculous things like—

"Drizzle," she said flatly.

"Yeah!" Finn beamed. Naturally, he was not sensing her irritation. "Cause you know how awesome it is when it's just drizzling outside, but it's not really raining, so it smells like rain, but you don't need an umbrella to go outside."

Quinn had been waiting patiently for something intelligent to come out of his mouth. She really had. But she just couldn't take it anymore, so she clenched the paper in her fist and bent forward, hissing angrily, "Are you a moron?"

The smile vanished. "What?"

What a great answer. Obviously, she was going to have to be clearer about her feelings on the topic.

"We're _not_ naming our baby Drizzle; we're not naming our baby anything!"

She fought to keep her voice at a whisper and slammed the stupid name in her maternity clothing magazine to emphasize her point. He stared at her like she'd just smacked him on the nose with a newspaper.

"Finish your test, Finn," she ordered, and then whipped to snatch her paper back from Brittany.

Normally, she'd be nicer to her fellow blonde—and she knew she'd probably be paying for this with Santana later—but between Finn's idiocy, her pregnancy problems, and Berry walking away from her without a glance this morning, Quinn was feeling too aggravated to care.

"Would you give me my test back?" she snarled, seizing it.

"I just don't understand anything," Brittany whispered back.

Quinn's temper flared and she snapped, "That's _not_ my problem."

The other girl looked stung, and Quinn groaned as that stupid gut-twisting feeling stirred up again. Her pity reflex was certainly getting its exercise these days, and she wished it would go away. She glared at the back of Finn's head. If he hadn't brought up that absurd baby name, she wouldn't have gotten annoyed and hurt Brittany's feelings. Stupid boy. He ruined _everything_.

XXXXXX

Quinn's exasperation with Finn only escalated throughout the rest of the period, to the point where she was practically shaking with anger when they left the room.

"You are _so_ insensitive," she growled, barely resisting the urge to strangle him. "Bringing up baby names to me when you _know_ I don't want to keep it!" She paused, reconsidering. "I _can't_ keep it."

"I-I know, but I don't get what you expect me to do about it!" he whined helplessly.

"Not have an opinion?" she offered.

"Hey, this is happening to me, too!" he barked, outraged.

Quinn was surprised he had the guts to get angry back at her. Even after he'd joined glee club and they boosted his confidence, he wouldn't dare say a word against her. And now he was yelling at her.

"No, it's not!" she snapped, whirling on her heel. "You are not the one whose parents will _burn_ her like a witch if they find out!" She whipped to face her locker, hoping if she dismissed him he would just go away.

His voice squeaked when he said bravely, "You know, sometimes I wish you were a little more like Rachel."

Quinn froze, spine stiffening. She took a moment to gather her thoughts—and her breath, which was suddenly harsh. She knew Finn had feelings for Berry, but she never thought he'd take it this far. Not to her face, anyway. She turned gradually, meeting his gaze with another cold glare.

"Really?" she challenged.

"Yeah," he said boldly, rocking on his feet like he might bolt any second. "She cares about my feelings, she sticks up for me. She sticks up for _both_ of us." He leaned in a little closer to murmur, "Did you know that she gave that Jacob kid a pair of her underpants to keep him from posting on his blog about you being pregnant?"

Quinn stared up at her doltish boyfriend. He couldn't lie to save his own life, so he was definitely telling the truth right now. That wasn't what was bothering her. There was something going on in the middle of her chest. At first, she worried that it was something to do with the baby, but then her lips started twitching. Her heart was beating faster, and that strange, warm feeling kept spreading in her chest.

When Finn's brow furrowed, it hit her. She was feeling…_happy_. She gaped at him, stunned. His brow furrowed further, and Quinn's mind raced. Why was she happy? She had no reason to be happy. Finn was standing there annoying her with talk about Berry and she was pregnant and she'd hurt Brittany's feelings and a minute ago she'd been so infuriated she could've imploded.

…Could she really be happy that the chubby, boyfriend-stealing midget had given up her panties to JewFro just to keep her secret from leaking out? No way. There was no way! It couldn't be happiness. It had to be…it must've been rage, Quinn decided abruptly. Yes, she was enraged because her boyfriend was such an idiot to think Berry had done anything for her when she was so obviously hooked on Finn.

And just as she nodded to confirm this conclusion for herself, the warm feeling evaporated and she was back to simple aggravation. This emotional roller coaster was starting to get a little tiring. She huffed, shoved her things in her locker, and put her hands on her hips as she faced Finn, who was now looking a tad concerned.

"You think she did that for me?" She tried to cover up her voice cracking with a smirk. "Just to be a good teammate?"

"Yeah. That's what she told me," he replied, looking puzzled as to why she was even asking.

Quinn felt that urge bubbling up again. The same one that arose that caused her to join glee in the first place, right after Finn and Berry practically had sex right on the stage in the gymnasium. Its scream was just as loud as it had been then, and it told her one thing: _keep him away from Berry_. And, just like last time, she didn't fight it.

She set her jaw. "I know some guys cheat on their wives or pregnant girlfriends. Just don't do it with her."

She slammed her locker shut and stormed away, the image of Finn frowning in confusion still in her head.

XXXXXX

Quinn now had one more thing to be angry with Finn about. Their stupid argument had made her five minutes late to Cheerios practice. Stopping at Berry's locker now would only extend that time and increase Coach Sylvester's ire with her. And it could make the lie that Mr. Schue kept her after less plausible. Well, if she didn't do it now, she could always do it in the morning, she supposed.

But she'd really rather just get it over with. The urge to be merciful probably wouldn't last long, after all, and by morning she might not feel like pity-talking to Berry anymore. Quinn actually wasn't sure why she still wanted to be merciful to Berry after she'd just received more proof that she was trying to steal Finn, but she did. Maybe it was part of this new pity thing.

It _was_ pretty pathetic that Berry was so desperate for a boyfriend she'd give her underwear to that slimy cretin under the guise of protecting the secrets of the girlfriend of the boy she liked. Besides, Quinn should be grateful for _anything_ that kept her condition private, no matter what the reasons.

So, Quinn forced herself in the direction of Berry's locker for her small pity/mercy/thank you talk. Not that she planned on actually _saying_ thank you. It should be implied by the fact that she was willing to spend a few minutes in her presence. And in public.

Berry was at her locker, as predicted, filling out her planner again. Quinn waited at her spot by the corner until the diva stuffed the planner in her backpack—the blonde wouldn't make that mistake again—before she made her way over to the other girl. At least she knew what she was going to say this time. For the most part.

Her stomach was twisting again and she really wished it would stop, but fortunately she didn't feel like she was going to puke when she arrived at the locker this time around—on the same side of the door as Berry. Yet another mistake she'd avoided. _Mistake number three…standing there like an idiot while Berry finished her business and waltzed away._

Quinn forced herself to take a breath and shoved her hands behind her back when she realized she'd been fidgeting again before blurting, "Hey, Berry."

The midget looked up sharply, surprise passing over her features before a pleasant smile took hold. Quinn clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping open. She'd never seen Berry smile like that before. Well…not at _her_, anyway.

"Hi, Quinn," Berry replied.

But she didn't go on. In fact, she shut her locker, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and walked past Quinn without another word. The blonde turned to gape at her retreating form.

Okay, so apparently Rachel Berry blew off Quinn Fabray since today.


	3. Envy

**A/N:** Haha, you guys are too nice. :) Hope you enjoy this one!

**Notice:** I am going on vacation from tomorrow until next Friday and won't have access to a computer until I get back. This will, therefore, be my last update until then. I'm gonna miss you guys!

**Envy**

Quinn didn't sleep well. And it wasn't because Coach Sylvester had yelled (_see_: screamed until she was hoarse) at her and forced her to run twenty laps when she finally arrived for practice. Nor was it because of her ever-present worry over her parents finding out about the baby. She was used to both annoyances by now, and even though the latter used to disrupt her circadian rhythm, it was now only a blip on the radar.

Instead it was because she spent the entire night arguing with herself. Over Rachel freaking Berry. Half of her was responding to the girl's audacity with rage, and she kept thinking of ways to have her revenge. Slushies, swirlies, de-pantsing (or de-skirting, in Berry's case), pudding on the chair, pop in the backpack—_anything_. But every single time Quinn managed to decide on a route to take, that smile Berry had given her popped into her head.

And that's when the arguing would start. Maybe she shouldn't do anything to retaliate. _Why the hell not? __**No one**__ blows off Quinn Fabray._ Well, maybe she didn't mean to blow her off. _How can you blow someone off without meaning to? That's ridiculous._ Maybe she had to go. _Well, then she could've said something!_ It's not like she didn't respond at all. And that was a really nice smile—she was obviously happy about it. _Right. That's why she just walked away—without even waiting to see if I wanted something!_

On and on and on, round and around and around until Quinn was holding her pillow over her ears, trying to turn her brain off. And so it was that she woke up ten times crankier the next morning than she normally was, to the point where even Santana didn't bother retaliating for the blonde's rudeness to Brittany the previous day. Not that the Latina was afraid of Quinn, of course. She just knew better. Unlike Finn, who, as per usual, did not sense her ire.

She tried to yank her mind back to what he was currently rambling about and ignore the niggling need to hunt down Berry, but it was difficult. For one thing, she didn't even care what he was saying. And ever since she'd arrived at school, Quinn felt certain that simply finding Berry was the right course of action. If she saw her, she would know what she wanted to do. But the brunette was being oddly elusive today, and that wasn't helping the blonde's mood in the least.

"…so I was thinking about it, and I guess you're right about Drizzle. It's too close to Rain," Finn was saying.

Quinn wished she hadn't decided to listen to him. Was there a brick wall nearby that she could smack her head against? Or possibly his?

"And I know you said you don't want to keep the baby, but I think maybe we should come up with a name…you know, just in case you change your mind or something," he continued tentatively. "I mean, you never know, right? And hey…I-I'm really sorry about what I said yesterday. About wanting you to be more like Rachel and everything?"

She sighed. "Yeah, it's fine."

"A-are you sure? I mean, that was really out of line and—"

She waved a dismissive hand, still scanning the throngs of students for that head of dark hair. "Whatever. It's cool."

Quinn jerked to a stop when Finn put his hand on her shoulder. He was giving her that fond, eye-sparkling smile now. Sometimes she swore he was still a little boy inside. Yesterday he'd been yelling at her; now he was acting like she was a goddess. It was like he'd been throwing a temper tantrum because she wouldn't get him a toy he wanted, but then he had a nice little nap and he was over it. This was yet another reason Quinn would rather not keep the kid—she seriously had no patience for this.

"You know I think you're awesome, right?" he said then, smile never fading.

The blonde desperately wanted to roll her eyes, but she nodded instead, sucking in a breath of surprise when he scooped her up in his arms. She patted his shoulders, hoping he would take the hint and set her down, but he didn't let go. She sighed exasperatedly until a thought occurred to her—he was actually giving her a new height advantage.

Quinn looked over the student body eagerly, skipping over the Cheerios uniforms—there were Mercedes and Kurt—and varsity jackets—there was Tina—and over the afro…. She went back. There was JewFro, his curly ball of grease bobbing as he talked to someone. If only the little creep would move. Maybe he was stalking Berry again. She had another stomach lurch, but she didn't want Finn to set her down yet—JewFro needed to move first.

_Finally!_ He shifted to the right and Berry shoved her way past him. He followed her and she whipped on her heel so fast her hair nearly smacked a passerby in the face. She was clearly lecturing the freak—he was holding his ground, but he was cowering, as though he wished he could crawl into a deep, dark hole and disappear. It made Quinn want to laugh, but Finn eased her back onto her heels then (finally), giving her another of those happy, puppy-dog eyed smiles.

"I love you," he said warmly.

The blonde nodded absently, eyes still directed toward where JewFro and Berry had disappeared behind a wall of varsity jackets. She still didn't have a sense for what she wanted to do about the midget. She hadn't felt the urge to grab anything icy cold and filled with corn syrup, so that was probably out; but she also hadn't felt much of anything else except triumph for having found her. Indecision really annoyed her.

Quinn scowled. "Yeah, I'll see you later."

And she wandered into her class, leaving a dumbstruck Finn behind.

XXXXXX

Quinn had to wait until it was almost time for glee to catch a closer glimpse of Berry. They were all getting together for a little bit, hoping to fly under Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester's noses. Granted, they weren't so worried about Mr. Schue—he wanted them all to be together just as much as they did. But they'd still rather not take the chance that he would tell Ms. Pillsbury and Coach Sylvester would overhear.

Puck was the one to pick the song, of course, and Finn drummed it out while the rest of them free-styled, and it was during that time that something very strange happened to Quinn.

For one thing, she kept finding her gaze traveling over to where Berry was sitting—which Artie was especially enjoying because it meant he had someone to dance with. At first it was just because she wanted to see what sort of reaction the diva elicited in her, but that remained mostly neutral until she realized that she was actually feeling a little…angry.

Obviously, this was not an unfamiliar emotion to Quinn. In fact, she'd spent most of the day feeling just plain enraged, although that had eased now that she was partying with her friends. But this was the sort of anger that usually came when Santana talked about how she was having a father-daughter day over the weekend, or Brittany told them about that duck she and her mom saw when they had a picnic together. It was the sort of anger that came with envy.

If Quinn knew anything for absolute certain, it was that she didn't envy Rachel Berry. She was a slushie-a-day loser who couldn't even get the _un_-taken men to notice her. So the only conclusion she could draw was that she was envying Artie…for some unknown reason. It wasn't like he was any better off than Berry, although he generally didn't get slushied _every_ day of the week. Still…there had to be _some_ reason she felt that spike of jealousy every time she looked at the two of them.

It wasn't until Berry started playfully mussing up his hair, smiling in that way at him, that the blonde realized what it was. She didn't like that Berry was giving Artie that smile. Or, rather, she didn't like that she was directing it at someone who wasn't Quinn. Her dancing almost came to a complete standstill at the realization, but when Matt nudged her she absently kept grooving, frowning at the midget.

This was weird. Why did she care? Berry could smile at whoever the hell she wanted. _As long as it's me._ She growled at the little voice until it scurried back into hiding. If she wanted the munchkin to smile at her like she was smiling at Artie…well, it could only mean one thing. Quinn actually _wanted_ to be _Rachel Berry's_ friend.

What the _hell_ was wrong with her?

Someone nudged her in the ribs. "You okay?"

She almost leapt out of her skin when she glanced up to find Puck at her elbow, eyebrows shooting up when she jumped. The rest of glee was already leaving and she almost kicked herself for missing them.

"Yeah, fine. Whatever," Quinn muttered, and pointedly turned away from him so she wouldn't have to see his longing, wounded looks.

Why would she _ever_ want to be Berry's friend? She was small and bossy and annoying, and she was trying to steal Quinn's boyfriend while under the impression that said boyfriend was actually the father of her baby.

"Mr. Schuester?" Berry glanced at the rest of them for support, and the blonde turned her head so she wouldn't have to look at her. "We don't like what this has become."

As always when someone was making her feel something she didn't want to, Quinn felt the strong urge to be contradictory and say she _did_ like what this has become. But…well, that would've been a total lie, and she was already telling enough of those lately. _So why keep lying to yourself?_ She rolled her eyes at the little voice.

Mr. Schuester was tearing down Coach Sylvester again, so she tuned him out until he handed her sheet music. Before she even got a chance to read the title, Berry was leaping out of her chair.

"I love this song! Follow my lead," she ordered Finn, grinning at him.

"Don't wait for me," he replied and smiled back.

The urge to keep him away from Berry charged up at the same time as she felt another flare of envy—this time of Finn, who the midget was still smiling at—and the combination built on itself so hard and fast that she couldn't control herself when she lurched forward to snap, "So much for togetherness!"

But no one noticed, and Quinn was left to fume and march back to her spot to watch on in complete and total confusion over her building rage while Berry and Finn sang to one another.


	4. Acceptance

**A/N:** Sigh. Have I told mentioned lately how much I hate this story?

**Acceptance**

All right, so Quinn wanted to be friends with Berry the Slushie Queen. So what? She was Quinn fucking Fabray. She could want whatever she wanted to, damnit.

She also needed a plan of action, now that she knew what she wanted. Berry obviously wasn't going to fall for it quite as easily as a desperate loser like herself should, so Quinn needed to plot her steps carefully in order to avoid being blown off—again.

_Step One:_ Stop spying for Coach Sylvester.

Berry would never trust her if she kept doing that, even though it was probably the only way Quinn would have a shot of staying on the Cheerios once the woman inevitably found out about her condition…. Actually, scratch that. She couldn't quit spying. She'd get kicked off or demoted straight away, and she couldn't lose the Cheerios. And it wasn't like Berry would find out about it anyway.

_Step One, Draft Two:_ Do not—repeat: _do not_—blame Berry for this '_No Air_' business.

It really wasn't her fault, after all. Even if she did spend the entire song making moon eyes at Quinn's boyfriend. Mr. Schuester had picked the song, so technically it was his fault. But she couldn't really take it out on him—poor man had enough problems as it was, not the least of which was his insane wife—and she was forcing herself not to take it out on Berry. So, as per usual, all that extra irritation came flying out of her mouth and lashing Finn.

To her surprise, Finn was actually refusing to put up with it. But not in the sense that he dared fight back against her—evidently that had been a one time occurrence that had taken all the stores of courage he possessed. No, instead he constantly told her he had to go practice—for glee or football (it didn't appear to matter which one, as long as it got him away from her mood)—or do homework. He only said the latter when he was getting desperate, she knew, but she let him get away with it, if only because she was sick of seeing his big sad puppy dog eyes.

Which meant Quinn was left with a lot of built-up irritation and no one to take it out on. She tried Brittany and Santana for about a day. But being even the slightest bit cruel to Brittany always elicited the pity twinge—and Quinn already felt that enough. Besides, taking it out on Brittany only led to a pissy Santana, and, though the blonde was fairly certain she could take her, there was an unspoken agreement between the two that, as best friends, they didn't push one another like that.

So Quinn backed up on that after that one day and went back to quietly fuming during classes and grinding her teeth as Berry and Finn sang to one another every single practice of glee she attended. She might've considered skipping, but she still had work to do for Coach Sylvester. The assignment wasn't difficult—just get Puck and Brittany out of the picture. It worked like a charm.

The blonde genuinely wanted Brittany out of there—not because she didn't enjoy the other blonde's company, but because if she was around much more, Quinn wouldn't be able to contain her snappish comments and vicious sneers. She didn't care if Puck took the brunt of it, but she was rather sick of his pointed statements and wounded looks—and she wasn't about to let herself spill the secret to Finn over her aggravation with Puck's nonstop annoying behavior.

Thus, with no one left to take it out on because the potential victims were all avoiding her (or she was avoiding them, in the cases of Santana and Brittany), Quinn had to try and let it go. She practiced for glee—_a lot_. Singing seemed to relieve a large portion of the stress she was carting around, though she could only practice excessively when her parents weren't home—Dad still wasn't one hundred percent supportive of her participation in the club.

Church choir? Oh, yes. Glee club? She may as well have gotten a tattoo and a tongue ring. At least Mom didn't seem to share that opinion. Though, as usual, she never said a word about it.

Quinn was seriously considering staying after to use the choir room on nights when her parents were home, because it literally made her feel that much better. Her chest didn't feel so constricted and her head felt lighter—like there were feathers in there instead of boulders. And it made her think that Berry might have the right idea with her obsessive tendencies when it came to vocal training.

It was when the blonde caught herself wondering if that was why Berry sang so much—to de-stress—in the middle of English that she realized she hadn't actually attempted to talk to her since the last time she blew her off.

_Step Two:_ Talk to Berry without being blown off.

After class ended, Finn gave his customary excuse of the past week: "I, uh...I have to go to practice. Coach Tanaka really wants to win this one."

She plastered a smile on her face, though she made sure to keep it tight and harsh—which wasn't difficult—so he wouldn't stick around. She didn't need him hovering over her shoulder while she was trying to talk to Berry.

"Fine," Quinn bit out.

It worked. He kissed her cheek and bolted down the hallway, away from her bad mood and harsh comments.

Quinn was supposed to meet Santana and Brittany for Cheerios practice soon, but she figured she had time to stop by Berry's locker on the way. So she hurried to her own, stuffing her books haphazardly in the space, and did a mental checklist before she approached the plaid-skirted midget.

The planner was safely tucked away in the locker, Quinn was coming from the correct side...so far, so good. She had to put her hands behind her back again when her fingers started fidgeting of their own accord and her stomach roiled with its nervousness. It really shouldn't be _this_ difficult to talk to Berry, but for some reason, it was.

Quinn decided it was because she'd already blown her off twice—ignoring the little voice when it reminded her that she was nervous the first time as well, and Berry hadn't yet blown her off—and reminded herself not to stand there like an idiot again.

"Hey, Berry," she forced out.

_Smile, or she'll think you're about to bury the body_, she chastised. A pinched smile quickly took place of the scowl, and when Berry looked up, the surprise was quicker to exit her expression this time. And she smiled—that pleasant, nice smile. Quinn had to remind herself to take a breath.

"Hello, Quinn," Berry said, and she shut her locker, apparently set on walking away again.

"Wait!" Quinn blurted, and it was suddenly about ten times hotter in that hallway—her cheeks were about to burst into flame.

The midget stopped as requested, but the smile was gone. Instead, she blinked blankly, looking a bit puzzled.

"Yes?"

_Nice, Fabray._ She had no clue what she was going to say. She'd just wanted to keep her from blowing her off—keep her from ceasing that smiling. Quinn wracked her brain, and Berry waited expectantly. Couldn't the freak be talking her ear off for once?

"I...I wanted to..."

"Yes?"

_Compliment! Complimenting is good. People like that._ Quinn surveyed the little diva as she had the first day, starting with the Mary Janes...which she would never, _ever_ compliment. Not even if someone paid her. Knee-high socks with an argyle pattern. Again, she couldn't compliment the skirt. Wait, why did she always start from the bottom?

The blonde's eyes darted up to the top of Berry's head and she realized—quite possibly for the first time—that Berry had _really_ gorgeous hair. Now, she probably shouldn't be that emphatic. A light compliment to start with, so Berry would know she was being sincere in her attempts at bridging the gap.

"I just wanted to say that your...your hair looks really nice today," Quinn mumbled. And she immediately wished she hadn't said anything in the first place, because her cheeks felt so hot she wouldn't have been surprised if she started sweating.

Berry stared. And blinked. Her arms folded across her chest, and there was something about the way she set her mouth...like she didn't believe Quinn or something.

"My hair," she echoed flatly.

"Yeah. I-I mean, it-it looks nice normally, but—" _Shut up before you make it worse, you idiot_. But, to Quinn's horror, she couldn't shut herself off. "—it's really lovely when it's straight like this and you can better appreciate its color rather than how wavy it is when you let it hang naturally, an-and—"

Berry's gaze had traveled, and something in her eyes made Quinn stop—she thanked God for the reprieve from her word-vomit. Really, she didn't need to wax poetic about the girl's hair. She was going to think she was perving on her or something.

Her relief came to a halt when Berry set her jaw, looking resigned and irritated in equal measures. It was even worse than she'd thought!

"What do you want, Quinn?" Berry asked with a long-suffering sigh.

The blonde's brow furrowed. What was she talking about? The midget helped her with a pointed look over Quinn's shoulder. She turned to find Santana and Brittany standing at the corner, obviously waiting for her.

Quinn's first reaction was embarrassment that her friends had caught her talking to Berry, but she shoved that aside with her own reminder—she was Quinn Fabray, and she could want whatever the hell she wanted.

Her second reaction was pure panic. Berry was obviously expecting to be manipulated and cajoled into doing something again, either to serve Sylvester's desires or for the purposes of a cruel prank. And this wasn't what Quinn wanted—she hadn't intended on _backward_ momentum with this.

"N-no, that's not—I'm not—" she stammered, mind moving too fast for her lips to keep up with.

Berry's brow furrowed more and more, but before Quinn could actually get to the part where her sentences made sense, she was interrupted.

"Hey, Rach!" Mercedes called from down the hall.

Berry looked over her shoulder and the blonde looked on helplessly.

"Lunchtime! You coming?" Kurt added.

The midget nodded and called, "I'll be there in a moment."

The two acknowledged her and headed into the quickly-packing cafeteria, and Berry faced Quinn again. Her displeasure hadn't eased, and the cheerleader tried her hardest to look sweet and innocent. Evidently, she'd failed, because the diva's eyes only narrowed more.

"Whatever it is, we can discuss it later on in rehearsal. Have a good practice, Quinn," Berry said politely, but the pleasant words hung heavy with formality.

Quinn groaned inwardly as the midget waltzed away, arms still folded—almost protectively. _Way to go, Fabray_.


	5. Embarrassment

**A/N:** I believe someone asked in a review of one of my stories if it's typical for my updates to be so far apart. Well, they wouldn't be if I didn't have five classes this semester, including a voice class (eek). I would love to update more frequently, but right now I will have to update things whenever I can. Thank you guys for your understanding, and if it makes you feel better, think of my voice class as research. ;)

This chapter totally went in its own direction…I had like nothing to do with it. :P

**Embarrassment**

Quinn fought hard to retrieve her Head Bitch In Charge attitude before she reached the two cheerleaders waiting at the end of the hall. It was the only way she'd be able to defend herself against their onslaught of questions and, well, _Santana_. She didn't know what it was about Berry that got her so flustered these days, but it wasn't good. It left her too vulnerable.

It seemed to take forever to get to them, and when she did, the Latina folded her arms and promptly arched a questioning brow. Brittany smiled at her. Quinn ignored both responses, shoving between them and marching determinedly toward the locker rooms.

"Well, let's go," she snapped over her shoulder—just for good measure.

Brittany was at her side in an instant, bouncing happily along. Quinn brushed that aside again and waited for the second response, bracing herself for whatever snide comment her 'best friend' was about to make. It didn't take long.

"Oh, no, no, no. You don't get to do that," Santana said sharply, and Quinn had to pull up short when the Latina circled in front of her, blocking her path.

The blonde glanced to Brittany, at her right, but there was no help forthcoming. The other girl just smiled at her and stood there with her typical far-away look. Quinn set her jaw, meeting Santana's gaze with a steely one of her own. The Latina folded her arms, and the blonde responded to that with a cocked hip.

"Do what?" she retorted, pushing that nervous edge out of her voice.

God, what was _with_ her lately? First the pity, now almost nonstop nervousness? It had to have been the stupid pregnancy hormones. She'd never had this many feelings before getting pregnant. One more reason to hate Puck's guts—not that she needed more.

"Don't play stupid," Santana bit back, rolling her eyes. "What are you doing talking to RuPaul?"

The blonde felt her cheeks go hot and her fists clench. Which was ridiculous, since, as she'd reminded herself many times, she could be friends with Berry if she wanted. And she wanted, so Santana would just have to deal with that. She steeled herself.

"None of your damn business."

Quinn went to the left—since Brittany was still blocking her right—but Santana cut her off. She huffed.

"_What_?" she hissed.

"Explain. Now."

"What are you, my mother?" Actually, it probably would've been more appropriate if she'd said 'father.' Santana did share his gruff nature—she decided to keep this observation to herself. "I _don't_ have to explain myself to you. I can do whatever I want. Now get out of my way."

The Latina opened her mouth to protest, and Quinn took advantage. She bowled into her shoulder, taking her by surprise, and hurried down the hall, hoping that if she went fast enough, she'd get to the field first and practice and Coach Sylvester would drive thoughts of Berry from her friends's minds.

"Jesus Christ, don't tell me you were actually _talking_ to it," Santana exclaimed suddenly.

Quinn froze, fists clenching and unclenching. Her palms felt kind of sweaty.

"I told you I didn't see a slushie," Brittany commented brightly.

"Yeah, but I at least thought you were _insulting_ it or something," she replied incredulously.

Quinn's nails dug into her palms and she turned on her heel. Embarrassment was gone—replaced by something warm and familiar. Something she could actually deal with, thank God. She narrowed her eyes on Santana, who responded to the anger emanating off her best friend with a raised chin.

"First of all, _she_ is not an it," Quinn growled. Santana's eyes went wide. "Second—"

The Latina's nose wrinkled. "Oh, my God. You like Man Hands."

The blonde's stomach twisted, but she didn't let her anxiety show. She could not, however, stop her cheeks from warming—she hadn't exactly thought about the fact that to want to be friends with Berry, she'd have to like her. She sniffed superiorly to make up for the oversight.

"And?" she prompted, affecting a bored tone.

Santana shook her head, snorting her disgust. "Besides the obvious? You're already about to pop right out of that uniform. Why the hell would you want to help your downward mobility by befriending the Troll Queen?"

Quinn closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of her nails digging into the tender flesh of her palms, willing herself not to do what she was aching to: beat the shit out of Santana. Even Finn's stupid baby name hadn't made her this angry, but Quinn was too busy talking herself down to worry about that. _She's your best friend, Brittany is standing _right_ here, she's your best friend, you don't need a suspension on top of everything else, she's your _best_ friend._

When her eyes snapped open, Santana was looking at her like she'd grown an extra head. Brittany smiled at her, which helped calm the waves of aggravation. Quinn took a deep, cleansing breath.

"I can do whatever the hell I want, Santana," she repeated—firmer this time. "And I don't have to explain myself to you, or anyone else, for that matter." She tightened her jaw. "And stop calling her names."

"Never used to bother you," she retorted, but her voice was quieter than before—dangerously so.

"Well, it bothers me today, so knock it off," she barked right back. "And hurry up. We're late."

Quinn was going to pay for this later. Santana didn't take well to being ordered around, and though she hadn't said anything yet, the blonde could see the anger swirling in her eyes. Her jaw clenched, like she was holding back a biting remark, and Brittany stepped closer to her, as though trying to soothe her. Quinn sighed as she whirled on her heel and stormed down the hallway.

Yep, she was definitely going to pay.

XXXXXX

"So what were you and Quinn talking about?"

It was an inevitable question. Kurt and Mercedes were incurably curious. Pathologically nosy, as it were. And the fact that it had been Quinn at Rachel's locker and not, say, Artie or Tina—or even Finn or Noah—made the mystery all that more attractive. Like moths to the flame, in a sense.

Rachel shook her head of her musings, meeting the impatient gazes across the table. Kurt had even abandoned his moisturizer for the time being. She might've felt honored if his interest hadn't had everything to do with Quinn—much like every other boys's interest in her.

"I'm not quite certain, to be perfectly honest," she said at last, thinking back over the rather disjointed words the blonde had been sputtering at her.

Quinn Fabray—stuttering. That was a new one. Really, did she find it _that_ distasteful to have to compliment Rachel in order to achieve whatever goal Coach Sylvester had set for her? The obvious answer was, of course, yes. And why Rachel would ever think differently lead her to the disturbing thought that she may, in fact, be losing her mind.

"You don't know?" Mercedes prompted, lips quirked with amusement.

Rachel shook her head minutely, lazily raking her fork through her salad.

"Okay, walk us through it, hon," Kurt said then, leaning forward interestedly. "What did she say?"

The brunette reviewed their brief interaction once more. She'd been putting her books away and readying her History notes for when she returned, and then Quinn had said hello. Rachel had been pleasantly surprised with the greeting yet again, but that was quickly dashed when she saw that the blonde had her hands behind her back—again. This usually meant one thing: slushie. So she'd tried to take off, and then….

"Well, she said hello, and after I returned the greeting and made to leave, she called me back. When I inquired as to what she wanted, she started…talking about my hair…or something," Rachel said slowly, frowning her disbelief even as she repeated it.

The two exchanged a glance, and then Kurt raked his eyes over her—not leeringly, she knew, but in examination.

"Well, it does look a little frizzy today. Did you change condit—"

"Not _insulting_ it," Rachel said severely. She rolled her eyes. "She was complimenting me."

Two jaws thudded to the floor. Rachel smiled sympathetically. That had been her initial reaction as well. Granted, she had had slightly more control over her facial expression, and she'd moved on to the next logical step far quicker than they had. But that was to be expected, she supposed, since neither Kurt nor Mercedes had had the years of training in acting as she had.

Once the two recovered, they exchanged yet another of those mysteriously brief glances that seemed to communicate so much. Rachel brushed by-now familiar longing aside, instead focusing on Kurt's now-skeptical expression.

"What do you mean 'complimenting'?" he asked, even quote-marking in the air with his fingers.

"I mean complimenting," she replied flatly. "She said something or other about how it's lovely and appreciating the color and waviness. I think. She was stuttering quite a bit, so it was difficult to understand." She shook her head again. "It doesn't mat—"

"_Quinn_ was _stuttering_?" Mercedes gasped, eyes bugging.

"Hard to believe, I know, but it's true," she said plainly. She shrugged her shoulders. "As I was saying, it doesn't really matter what she said, since it was likely a ploy to butter me up in order to force me to unknowingly participate in a cruel prank of some sort."

Rachel didn't mention her other suspicion, the one that bothered her the most. She didn't want to believe that Quinn would knowingly destroy glee club from the inside out, but why wouldn't she? With the remnants of her old life slipping through her fingers, she was likely ready to do anything to clutch onto the last shreds of it—which meant that the Cheerios and, therefore, anything Coach Sylvester wanted was her top priority right now. The rumors were just confirmations of that suspicion.

And even though she didn't like it—and refused to allow the head cheerleader to sucker her into inadvertently aiding in whatever endeavor Ms. Sylvester had set her on—Rachel felt she mostly understood it. Control was very important to her, as well, and she couldn't imagine herself taking the loss of it well. In fact, she would probably have handled it with even less grace and poise than Quinn had.

In any case, Rachel wouldn't tell her fellow glee club members and risk turning them on Quinn. They were already being less-than-supportive about her pregnancy—Brittany's comment from last week was _still_ irritating the brunette, for some reason—and she didn't want to encourage that behavior. When Quinn fell, it was going to be hard, and Rachel was going to make sure glee club was there to catch her. Until then, she would have to do whatever it took to forestall the fall.

Rachel grimaced and tore her eyes away from the leering little rat a few tables away. Disgusting creature. At first, the brunette couldn't understand why she cared enough to do what she'd done. It wasn't as though she owed Quinn anything. But then she realized—Quinn was part of the team now, and Rachel would do whatever it took to take care of her team. Although, she had to admit, if it had been Santana? She probably wouldn't have given the underwear away.

The brunette shook her head to clear her thoughts and her vision when she realized that Mercedes and Kurt were speaking to her.

"…pretty uncharacteristic. So maybe she was being honest," Mercedes was saying, though there was a dubious frown tilting her lips downward.

"Complimenting Rachel is also uncharacteristic," Kurt countered.

"So you think she's plotting, too?" she replied, and the doubtfulness didn't leave her expression.

"No, I'm undecided," he proclaimed thoughtfully. "I think we need to do a little…investigating."

Rachel sighed when Mercedes perked up and Kurt's smile spread into a Grinch-like grin.

"Please don't," she interjected. "I already plan on speaking to her at rehearsal later, and besides, Quinn already has enough on her shoulders without your meddling."

The grin lessened in size, but the mischievous glint didn't leave his eye. Mercedes, at least, looked chastised.

"We won't be meddling. We'll just be…probing," Kurt said, beaming at his word choice.

There was no stopping a bloodhound on the scent—Rachel knew this for a fact—but she could delay him. Or at least promise to provide enough information to placate him.

"I'm talking to Quinn at rehearsal to find out what she wanted," she repeated firmly. "If I report her answer to you, will you promise to leave it alone?"

He considered her. "That depends."

"On?" she prodded impatiently.

"Her answer. If it prompts more questions, I reserve the right to probe," he replied.

Mercedes glanced at her, looking transfixed by the debate. Rachel sighed.

"You're to ask _me_ whatever questions it prompts _first_, and if I can successfully answer them, you'll stop."

"Only if your answers are satisfactory."

"Fine."

"Good."

They exchanged triumphant smirks, each winning a battle in their own small way, and returned to the business of lunch.

XXXXXX

Quinn was exhausted. Her arms hurt, her legs hurt, her feet and hands hurt. Her head hurt. But that was mostly because Santana 'borrowed' a football from the team during practice and threw it at her head. The blonde knew she should be grateful that that was the extent of the payback she'd received, since Santana knew enough damaging information about her to ruin her, but at the moment all she was feeling was miserable.

And the last thing Quinn wanted to do was go to glee and watch Berry and Finn sing at each other for an hour. She might just combust from her combined irritation with Finn's presence, envy of the easy smile he received from Berry, the need to keep him away from her, and her ever growing confusion when it came to the midget diva.

Quinn couldn't even remember why she'd gotten so angry with Santana earlier. She'd called Berry an 'it' a time or two herself—and dubbed her much worse than 'Troll Queen.' So what was her problem? Besides being completely embarrassed by this unanticipated, unshakeable need she suddenly had to be Berry's friend. And besides being so on edge with irritation the past few weeks that she could've exploded.

Exploding at Santana hadn't done her any good. Quinn was still aggravated—especially at the prospect of glee this afternoon—and now she had a pissed off best friend and a headache to boot. Santana eased up after she'd gotten her payback, but the blonde still saw the questioning looks and icy glares she shot her out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't going to let go of this Berry thing too quickly.

Quinn sighed. She really didn't have time to worry about that. And at least Brittany was taking it…well, how Brittany took everything. At least she could count on _someone_ to be consistent.

She rubbed the quickly-forming lump on the side of her head and hissed in pain. At least her hair would cover it. And at least she hadn't been knocked unconscious—she would've hated to have to explain to Coach Sylvester on the drive to the hospital exactly why she needed to see her OBGYN. She was saying 'at least' a _lot_ these days….

"Are you okay?"

The voice was so quiet, gentle, and _concerned_ that Quinn didn't immediately recognize it as Berry's. In fact, she had to stare at the Mary Janes in front of her for a moment, and then it was a matter of dragging her gaze up the petite body in front of her and finding pouting, plump lips, a furrowed brow, and worried brown eyes. The blonde stared for a moment.

This wasn't actually in her step-by-step plan of getting to be Berry's friend...why had _she_ come to _her_? Was it time for glee already? _Fabray…you may have a concussion. This is a _good_ thing. Smile!_

Quinn was used to taking commands, so even the one she'd given herself worked, and she was quickly giving Berry a rusty smile. The girl looked completely taken aback, but the blonde caught the corners of her mouth perk up—as if she wanted to smile back, but wasn't sure if she should. _Okay. Now talk. God, you're pathetic._

"I-I'm fine." _Stop stuttering._ "Santana just has…good aim."

She winced and rubbed her head again. Berry winced with her, one hand unclenching the books she had to her chest, but she placed it back where it was moments afterward. Quinn struggled with the silence—she knew she should talk, try to start a conversation, but what was she supposed to say? She'd never talked to Berry before…. Maybe she could compliment her again. _Right. Cause that worked out _so_ well last time._

"Okay. Well, I…guess I'll see you in glee, then," Berry said, and before Quinn could say a word, the brunette had dipped her head and darted down the hallway.

_Was that progress or not?_


End file.
